


This Ain't a Fairytale

by Crowgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Flufflet, M/M, Snow White (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Just...don’t hate me, okay?’</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Ain't a Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [potteralda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potteralda/gifts).



‘No.’

‘Dean--’

_‘No.’_

Sam blows out a long breath, grits his teeth, swipes his sweaty hair out of his face with the back of his arm, leaving a gritty smear behind. ‘Look, there’s no-one else here. It’s you or me and--’

‘--or it’s neither of us ‘cause this is _bullshit.’_ Dean flings out an arm to indicate the empty, echoing space around them.

‘So...what -- Cas is just having us on? Yeah, that seems like something he’d do! Totally his style!’ 

‘Sammy---’

‘So that means I can wake him up, right?’ Sam spins around, strides up to the wide grey slab Castiel is stretched out on. He holds out his right hand, lets the dented aluminum baseball bat he’s holding drop with a clang onto the slab. It falls, rolls, drops onto the floor and Dean grabs it up because it’s stupid to throw away a weapon. Sam glances back over his shoulder and waves his hands over Castiel’s immobile body. Dean glares back at him and pulls an exaggerated _so the fuck what?_ face. Sam rolls his eyes, turns back and takes two steps to his right so he’s standing at the top of the slab, then lifts his hands to shoulder-height and, before Dean can do anything, slams his palms down full-force on the slab on either side of Castiel’s head. The impact makes a dull booming noise that rolls around the room before fading away down the corridor they had followed from the street.

Castiel doesn’t move.

Dean grinds his teeth together so hard his jaw aches and waves the baseball bat in a vague way. ‘So -- so he got knocked out. Just -- throw him over your shoulder and lets get the hell out of here--’

‘Yeah, great, good idea, Dean -- only one problem...’ Sam slides his hands under Castiel’s shoulders and makes a show of trying to lift him and failing.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake...’ Dean snorts and strides up the shallow stairs until he’s next to the slab. He props the bat against the side of the plinth the slab rests on. He slips his hands under Castiel’s ankles and nods at Sam. ‘C’mon -- one, two-- What the hell--’ 

It’s as if the trenchcoat were suddenly made of lead or Castiel had somehow become fastened to the slab with restraints neither of them can see. Actually, that’s not a bad idea and Dean runs his hands quickly up the sides of Castiel’s legs, over his wrists, pats over his abdomen and slides a hand under one of Cas’ hips until he catches the look Sam’s giving him and whips his hands back to himself. ‘Thought there might be something holding him.’

Sam gives a short nod. ‘Whatever. Look, will you just -- do it and we can get out of here?’

Dean grimaces. ‘I’m gonna say this again and then--’

‘And then _what,_ Dean?’ Sam grabs the stone apple from where it had fallen out of Castiel’s hand. Dean flinches and instinctively reaches out to slap it from his brother’s hand but -- nothing happens. It’s just a stone apple: as perfect as any mould could be, even blushing faintly pink along its curves.

‘You’d think he’d know better than to touch shit by now,’ Dean grumbles, continuing his search for any kind of invisible restraint. There’s nothing; he knows there’s nothing; he knows Sam knows he knows there’s nothing. This is all fucking pointless and a bad idea and why the hell won’t Cas just _wake up_ already?

‘You know what this is.’ Sam shoves the apple in his face and this time Dean really does smack his wrist and the apple cracks down on the step and rolls away, unharmed, into the shadows near the wall.

‘It’s someone’s idea of a bad fucking joke, that’s what it is--’ He takes a long step and grabs up the apple. It’s smooth, cold under his fingers, unmistakably stone and if he hadn’t seen Cas take a bite out of it he’d never believe someone could think it was real. The pink tint is fading as he turns it in his fingers and he wants to throw it at the wall, break it into bits and maybe _that_ noise will be loud enough to bring Cas to.

‘Dean.’ 

When he looks back, Sam is looking at him soberly and Dean’s chest clenches. _Fuck._ ‘Look, I tried, okay?’

As if Dean might’ve missed his _brother_ \-- his baby brother! -- trying, awkwardly, to kiss Castiel back to waking. _That_ was a picture that was going to be with him during many long wonderful nights of sexual frustration, self-directed irritation, and insomnia.

‘And, I mean, lets face it: it wasn’t gonna be _me,_ was it? So what the hell are we talking about? Just -- just kiss him and lets get out of here!’

‘What d’you mean: it was never gonna be you?’ Dean retorts belligerently, dropping the apple back on the floor. ‘It _might’ve_ been -- it -- there’s no reason it should be _either_ of us-- We could be the rest of our _lives_ looking for the right person!’

‘Jesus, Dean.’ Sam rubs a hand over his face, then plants both hands on the slab by Castiel’s shoulder and looks at Dean. ‘You think you’re subtle? Seriously? I’ve spent more time with you than with any other person I have ever known and I _know_ when you’re crushing on someone!’

‘What? You’re crazy! I’m-- I’m not--’

_‘And_ I can tell when you’re shit-scared and bluffing.’ Sam comes down the shallow stone steps, pausing to pick up the baseball bat. He comes down the last step and stops by Dean who’s still trying to stammer his way through a complete sentence.

‘I’m sorry. Really.’ Sam’s voice is quiet and soft with no hint of incredulity or mockery or even mild disbelief and Dean glances up before he can help himself. ‘Whatever you were thinking you’d do -- this...probably wasn’t it. But it’s either this -- or we leave him here.’

Before Dean can come up with any kind of response -- and really, what the fuck does Sam think he’s saying: _leave him here!_ As if that was even an _option,_ something Dean might _agree_ to -- Sam vanishes past him into the shadows of the sloping corridor.

The sound of Sam’s footsteps fades away and, even though Dean knows he’s probably keeping watch at that last bend in the corridor where the rats nearly got them coming down, he doesn’t feel a whole lot better.

He kicks the apple away and glares at the slab as if Castiel were awake and aware to see it. ‘Well, fuck.’

There’s a faint crack as the apple strikes the wall and a brief moment of silence. Then another, fainter sound of tapping rises. It seems to spread outwards along the walls until it sounds as though there are dozens of -- of -- of _whatever_ tapping urgently with hard fingertips on the other side of the wall. There’s no rhythm, no pattern to it, but it’s making the hair on Dean’s arms stand up and he’s standing next to Castiel before he really thinks about moving.

‘Okay, okay, okay...’ He rubs the back of his neck hard and winces at just how _right_ Sam had been. He hadn’t even been sure that he’d do _anything._ He had no _proof_ that Cas was thinking about anything but the end of the world when he looked at Dean. No _proof_ \-- but a shit-ton of suspicions and maybe a little bit of wishful thinking. And if he _had_ been thinking about something -- making some plan or other to try to humiliate himself completely-- Then -- then maybe it might’ve involved a little more alcohol and maybe a movie -- Cas had recently started showing a distinct preference for black-and-white romantic comedies, nothing later than 1955, and for preference involving Katharine Hepburn or Clark Gable -- and maybe--

The tapping gets faster, louder.

‘Okay, this was not my plan, all right? Just...just remember that.’ He ducks forward and presses his mouth to Castiel’s as fast as he can, barely registering the touch before straightening back up.

Nothing happens.

The tapping is all around the room now and he could swear it’s starting to come from the ceiling, too.

‘Dean! You’re gonna wanna hurry it up!’ Sam’s voice echoes down the hall.

_Mother fucker._ Dean licks his lips, bites the lower one hard, then leans down and whispers into Castiel’s ear. ‘’m sorry about this, Cas. It’s...not the way I wanted this to go.’ 

He plants his hands on the cold slab and leans down again. For a second or two, he pauses, barely above Castiel’s mouth, registering the faint movement of air against his cheek that means Cas is still _alive_ at any rate. 

‘Just...don’t hate me, okay?’ Dean closes his eyes and lets _this,_ at least, be like what he imagined. Castiel’s mouth is a little cool against his. He imagines he can taste the juice of the stone made fruit and he’s lapping at the corner of Castiel’s mouth before he can help himself and he can feel the rasp of the trenchcoat against his fingers as he tries to find something that will keep him on his fucking feet because he’s getting dizzy from a goddamned kiss and Castiel’s lips are warming under his, softening, _opening--_

Dean tries to move back but doesn’t get more than a few inches because Castiel’s hand is on the back of his neck, pulling him down, easing him forward and this time it’s the tip of Cas’ tongue teasing against _his_ mouth and he can feel Cas’ other hand on his breastbone, under his jacket, pressing into the muscle of his chest, fingertips digging at his collarbone.

‘Jesus... Cas...I’ve...I’m...we’ve...we’ve got to go...’ Dean has to plant both his palms on the cold stone in order to push himself back and even then Castiel’s grip relaxes reluctantly. 

The tapping is loud and clear, thrumming through the air around them. It’s starting to develop a definite rhythm and Dean doesn’t want to be here when it gets synced up. He grabs Castiel’s arm, hauling him to his feet. Castiel stumbles up, his normal grace gone, and Dean tucks an arm around his shoulders and he doesn’t quite realize that Castiel is reeling him in for another kiss until he feels the fingers of his free hand thread into Castiel’s hair and realizes -- _really_ realizes with a shock of arousal that goes straight to his groin -- that Castiel’s mouth is warm against his. 

Dean shifts back at that, peers at Castiel. ‘So...uh...you’re, you’re okay with this?’ He pitches his voice low, aiming to be heard under the tapping which is starting to have a definite undertone of _shuffling,_ like a crowd of people with slipper-clad feet.

Castiel smiles and reaches up to adjust Dean’s hand on his shoulder, taking a firm grip on Dean’s forearm to balance himself. ‘It was a long way to go for a kiss.’


End file.
